To Dream Again
by RedHeadChickie
Summary: Erik wants nothing more than the mercy of death, but there are other plans in store for him... not ow fic, read to find out My first Phantom Phic, please be kind


Ha ha ha ha ha! I have officially invaded Phantom-dom! Be afraid, be very afraid! Mwaha. Oh god, please don't pay any attention to my insanity... You can all blame Calypso Diangelos; it's all her fault! She dragged me with her to see Phantom on Broadway, I swear! Not like I didn't enjoy it... ha. How could I not? But I digress. Since then, I've become a die-hard fan... even with evil-man in line to play Erik in the movie (I won't even give him the honor of mentioning his foul name. Plus I never took the time to commit it to memory). Grrrrrr. Michael Crawford all the way! I've become obsessed with him, too... I'm dying to see Dance of the Vampires.  
  
Anyway, this is a song-fic, inspired, actually, by the song that's in it... It's called Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls. I know, I know; what could Phantom and the Goo Goo Dolls possibly have in common? But the song is so eerily Erik-ish that I couldn't resist, and thus, this.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own PotO. Gaston Leroux does. Andrew Lloyd Webber owns the story that I'm continuing from. "Iris" is owned by the Goo Goo Dolls, or their record company... There is also a hint of Susan Kay dashed in for a bit of flavor, and that belongs to her. Mix well... (Heh heh, Iron Chef Phantom style, hm? Bloody hell, I'm insane...)  
  
  
  
To Dream Again  
  
  
  
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And I'd give up forever to touch you  
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow  
  
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Huddled in the passage under the black throne, I listened to the angered shouts and sounds of destruction. I heard a huge, discordant bang... they must have demolished the organ. It took ever ounce of my self-control to stifle the sob that tore at my throat... My love, my home, my music-how else did God plan on punishing me? You took everything from me, I thought bitterly, and now I have nothing. True, I wallowed in sin and malice, but it was His fault to begin with... after all, He was the one who cursed me with my hideous face, my deformity that hampered all peaceful relationships with humankind. What a bigoted race, humanity, I reflected. There was nothing more that I loathed. Not even vulgar music... I wanted no part in it. I wanted to die...  
  
After all, what was there for me to live for? Christine had fled with her Vicomte; the mob was currently shattering my home and my music. My home, of course, had been a virtual prison, but the music-it had been the only thing binding me to this world for years, so many of them. Music was everything the human race wasn't. Beautiful in every way, discriminating against only the untalented, and an infallible and comforting companion: music had been my lover, my spouse, my child. Until Christine DaeŽ came along.  
  
A great part of me wanted to hate her and curse her name to the blackest regions of hell. That part of me was what was left of the Phantom of the Opera, but he was slowly dieing. Christine's angel was long dead. After the Opera Ghost died, there was no way to escape the fact that Erik, the horrible, hideous monster, would die soon after. The world was better off. The thought of hating her made my heart throb with sorrow. I could not, even after everything. I just hoped that Christine would remember me, if only in her worst nightmares... the world could forget, for all I cared of it, but I still loved Christine, the sole mortal object of my obsessions. The Opera Ghost could scream and shout and rage all he wanted, but in my heart, I would love her until the end of my days, which, mercifully, didn't look far off. I only hoped that she would remember that I loved her, and to know that my actions had been that of an insane, lovesick madman who only wanted that love to be returned.  
  
I would have given anything for her love, even my life.  
  
  
  
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You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be  
And I don't wanna go home right now  
  
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A bitter laugh found it's way through my throat. I could lay the world at her feet and still she would refuse me. I hardly blamed her. Though I would never harm her, touch her against her will; I had raped her with my obsessive demands. I had forced her to sing strange words to her lips in my perverse yearning to hear her say them; I forced her to give herself up solely to the music, my music. And then, in blinding rage and lust, I forced her to make the choice between freedom and the life of the boy that she loved. These crimes had had all the effects of my actually raping her: she would never be able to trust me after seeing my rage-filled self. Her kiss... it woke me from my sinister dreams and showed me all that really mattered... her happiness... and I let her go. It was the only way. I realized, right in that moment, that if I made her miserable, I would be nothing more than the animal that I was in the gypsy circus.  
  
Though at the time I had little resolve left in me, I was determined not to be reduced to such a level. I would be dignified and act honorable for once in my life. And so I let the boy down. Though I regretted none of it, I still longed for her embrace once more, and ever more, for her heart.  
  
But that was a distant fantasy, impossible and absurd. The dying Phantom mocked me for my childish wants and needs. Even at over fifty years alive, it sneered; you have all the pride of a five year old. You are reduced to nothing but an infant, and by what? A woman! I could nearly feel my former self snort in derision. I had a sudden urge to strangle it.  
  
  
  
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And all I can taste is this moment  
And all I can breathe is your life  
  
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It was just then that I realized that the sounds above were gone, and that they had been absent for quite some time. I waited for a bit longer, making sure that there was, indeed no one up there anymore and, asserting that the mob was long gone, I made my way back through the throne. The sight that met me tore the sobs from my throat at last.  
  
All was lost. The fine carpets, the expensive artworks, the furniture... it was all destroyed. They were torn to bits: the stuffing of the sofa strewn over the canvases, which were slashed to ribbons. The coffin that was my bed was smashed to kindling, and the red satin that draped it looked as though it had come out for the worst in a fight with a thousand galloping carriages. Books from my library had had their pages ripped unceremoniously from their bindings: their white contents made up for the carpets that were slashed beyond repair. I even found one or two bookshelves that had been thrown to the ground, bringing vases and lamps in their destructive paths.  
  
None of this mattered. What held my attention the most-and shattered my soul the most efficiently-was the state of my music room.  
  
The white sheets of music-belonging to both symphony and short exercise-were slashed and mutilated. My old, priceless violin lay in splinters of wood, the strings cut to nearly nothing. The organ... they had overturned it, shattered the structure and ripped the keys right out of the board.  
  
And yet, I felt no rage, no anger, no murderous intent, as I would have in my days as the Phantom. I didn't have energy left for that. All I could feel was emptiness, gripping my heart like nothing in my life ever had. My soul was empty.  
  
  
  
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And sooner or later it's over  
I just don't wanna go home right now  
  
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A few of the keys lay near my feet, and I bent down to pick them up. While I was kneeled, however, I noticed something shining in the dim light of a single candle left burning on the mantle. I leaned over it...  
  
I was staring at myself through the shards of a mirror.  
  
I have no idea why I did not simply pull away. I was mesmerized by the sight that met my mismatched eyes. I simply stared at the repugnantly misshapen sight that I beheld. I noted, with some sick clarity, my lack of a nose, and the portion of my skull that was exposed near my temple where the skin had not grown...  
  
The gripping at my chest grew in intensity, and I now felt as though I was being crushed by the entire mass of the Opera House. So intense was the agony that I collapsed on the ground, pages fluttering around as my weight destroyed their structures. I couldn't breathe...  
  
And then, in that dizzying pain, I understood. Another attack. Thank God. Thank God!  
  
  
  
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And I don't want the world to see me  
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand  
When everything's made to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am  
  
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I have no idea how long I slept. When I woke up, it was difficult for me to see. Of course, it was dark in the cellars of the theater, but I was quite accustomed to the blackness of my home. I could not discern where I was in my home. I could feel that I was comfortable, despite the pain in my chest. Memories from earlier rushed back to me, and I realized that I should be lying on the floor of the music room, which was not all that cozy, to say the very least. Where, then, was I?  
  
Suddenly, there was an extra light in the room. I did not bother to identify its source, which was, of course, uncharacteristic, but I was not in the best of conditions at the moment. When I looked at my surroundings, I was shocked. Why in bloody hell was I in Christine's room? Only myself and Christine could enter this room, thus, the mob had not been able to touch it. But how did I get here? I couldn't have even lifted a finger, much less...  
  
Then, of course, it struck me. I was awake. I was alive. I should have died after the heart attack, in my sleep...  
  
"Why am I still alive?" I voiced. Did God intend to punish me more?  
  
"Erik?"  
  
  
  
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And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming  
Or the moment of truth in you're lies  
  
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I shot off the pillows of Christine's bed, which proved to have not been very prudent of me. The aching in my breast thrust me back against the bed with a force that made me cry out in torment and left me gasping for air.  
  
"Erik!" That voice... even raised in alarm, I could not deny it's bell-like clarity and angelic resonance. I opened my eyes to see a sweet, beautiful face above me... I wanted to deny it, but somehow, I knew my eyes were not deceiving me. She was here...  
  
"Christine..." I moaned. Now that she had come back to me willingly, I was dying... Damn it all to hell!  
  
"Shh, Erik, don't talk," she instructed me. "You need rest."  
  
I laughed sarcastically. "You know, child, that I'm dying as we speak," I responded. Her face went white as a sheet, and her eyes widened in alarm.  
  
"No, Erik!" she cried desperately. "I came down here to make sure that you were alive... I needed to talk to you... I won't let you die!" she finished vehemently.  
  
I smiled at her. "Why in the world, my dear, would you care whether I died or not? It leaves you free to marry the Vicomte and not worry about my trying to retrieve you."  
  
"Erik," she said, giving me a look that resembled a kicked puppy, "please don't think that way! Please, listen to me... hear what I have to say, if you don't yet hate me..." she turned her head away from me.  
  
"Christine, my dear, what put that ridiculous notion in your head?" I asked, slightly taken aback. I sat up with a bit of difficulty. "Go on; say what you need to."  
  
She looked back at me. "I needed to know that you forgave me, Erik." I was shocked. I opened my mouth to protest, but she placed her small hand over my malformed lips. "No, let me finish. I did awful things to you. I turned away from you when you needed me, I betrayed you. I even took part in the plot to murder you! And you had gone through such a hard life already, I can only imagine what it must have been like for you in all your years alone. I can't pretend to comprehend, and I don't think that anyone else can.  
  
"I want you to know: when I kissed you last night, it was not to get out of making the decision you put before me. I was making the decision through action, not words. I could not speak the words I wanted last night, so I showed you. I don't think you understood. I want to tell you now..."  
  
I jolted at her words. She couldn't mean... it wasn't possible... I stared at her in astonishment.  
  
She wavered a bit under my intense gaze, but still she spoke, and her words fulfilled my life.  
  
"I love you, Erik."  
  
  
  
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When everything feels like the movies  
Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive  
  
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My gaping gradually shifted from a look of shock to one of wonder and awe. After all I'd done to her... and she loved me? It was unbelievable... And I could not believe it at all. I wasn't possible.  
  
"I don't think that you can mean that, Christine. I've done terrible things to you... how could any woman still love a monstrosity of a man if they'd been through the hell I put you through?"  
  
She didn't seem to have listened to a word of it. She sat down on the bed and took my skeletal hand in her own "Do you still love me, after everything?" she asked suddenly.  
  
I looked at her in puzzlement. "Christine, my dear, you're not making any sense. I don't think that I shall ever stop loving you."  
  
"And I put you through torment and hell, as well, didn't I?" she cut in. I didn't respond, but she continued anyway. "You know it just as much as I do, but you won't admit it. You went through much agony because of me and my foolishness. And yet, you put it aside and continue to have feelings for me. Did it not occur to you that I might be able to do the same?"  
  
I looked away from her. She was right, but part of me refused to believe that I could ever attract her affections. "If you don't mean what you say, I will surely die..."  
  
She gripped my hand tighter, then tilted my chin so that I met her eyes. "I mean it from the bottom of my heart." And finally, I believed her.  
  
"I love you, too, Christine; more than you will ever know..." I smiled at her.  
  
Her entire face lit up. She gripped my hand in both of hers, then pressed a kiss to the knuckles. She reached her hand to my face and her lips made their way over my forehead. It was then that I realized that I didn't have my mask on. I didn't jerk away from her. She had smiled at my deformity... she was the first person to have ever done that... my heart swelled with love. My heart... It no longer hurt so much, and the pain was receding... The room was back in focus, and I could now clearly see outside the ring of light.  
  
The worst part of the attack was over, and miraculously, I was going to live!  
  
  
  
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And I don't want the world to see me  
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand  
  
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I gasped in surprise. Christine backed away sharply, her face going white again. "Erik! What's wrong?" she asked, her voice rising in fear.  
  
I laughed. "Nothing, my dear... I was surprised, that's all. It seems that the pain in my chest is fading; it looks as though I'm going to live after all."  
  
Color returned to her face again. "Don't scare me like that again, Erik. I thought that you were dying."  
  
"So did I, but it seems that we were both wrong." She smiled at me. In that moment, I knew why I was alive. God was giving me another chance. Christine was my salvation: she had saved my soul in these last few minutes, and He was going to let me live so that I could be with her. I was pardoned because of our love, and it was thanks to her. I could not owe her more... I had nothing to offer her, but it seemed that she wanted nothing more than my love. I would give her all that I could.  
  
  
  
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When everything's made to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am  
  
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I was growing very tired from my near brush with death. My eyes began to drift shut in weariness. Christine ran her hand through my thin hair. "Erik, you need rest," she murmured softly. I put my arms around her, burying my head in her shoulder.  
  
"Let me fall asleep... just like this..." I muttered groggily, sleep creeping over me like a comforting blanket.  
  
She placed her arms around my torso and let me drift off on her shoulder. There was no more than I ever wanted than this... she pressed her lips against my cheek-my deformed, ugly cheek-and said, "Good night, Erik."  
  
I nodded against her shoulder. Sleep was now very dominant over me: my body went limp, my eyes closed fully, and my breathing began to slow. I could still feel mine and Christine's heartbeat, beating simultaneously, in unison, just as our strange duets had been...  
  
I do not recall having ever felt so safe.  
  
  
  
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I just want you to know who I am  
  
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A/N: Does Erik sound like a schizo? I kinda thought he did... oh well. Erik was supposed to die at the end, but my muse and I had a meeting of the mind, and eventually I won out. I couldn't kill him, so Erik lives. Would the story have been better if I had? I don't know... you tell me. Be kind, please rewind... I mean, review! ^_^ 


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